


there's something strange off interstate-65

by rabbitual



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Anxiety, Asexual Character, Because I need more happiness in this fandom goddamnit, Canon Divergent, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, I will find a way to shove a happy ending into this somewhere, M/M, Making Marble Hornets not an angst fest is a challenge I should not have taken, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slow Burn, as I figure out where this is going, probably?, slow burn because I faff around in my prose, so buckle in kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-05-12 06:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbitual/pseuds/rabbitual
Summary: Jay has never lived with anyone before, and he didn't imagine it would be under these circumstances. He also didn't imagine his new roommate would be a man he spent too long pining over already. Or that he would then start a sudden campaign to teach Jay how to function.Twenty-four-hour breakfast diners, laundromats, gas stations, nightmares, music, southern heat, and gay feelings feature.





	1. the end of your arm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emetophoria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emetophoria/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 5th, 2013

There’s nothing you can really run from. That’s what Jay’s learned - if anything - from all this.

There were the obvious things that were chasing him - the guy in the hood, the thing in the woods, the constant fear that he’d wake up having forgotten half a year again, Alex. but there was also the things he didn’t expect. Like his own heartbeat. And it was those stupid little things, the ones he didn’t even know he was running from but in a sudden moment realized he couldn’t escape, that had made him realize this.

And, in particular, Tim. Holy fuck, could he not outrun Tim.

He didn’t notice it right away. The first night - or morning, really - that they checked into a hotel together went by fast. After texting Tim around 3 am, they didn’t leave Jay’s motel until nearly 4 am, and when all was said and done, he fell on his new bed at 6 am. He’d been up all night - had been up for days - and driving for hours. Tim had been speaking in tongues, but through Jay’s tired haze he’d gotten them through reception well enough. Having been through the motions enough in the past few months, Jay could handle it on autopilot. Then once his head hit the pillow, he was gone. He hadn’t slept so easily in weeks. He thought it was because another person was there. Or maybe because having Tim there meant Jay wasn’t kept up wondering if he was safe and, if he wasn’t, if it was his fault.

When he woke up next, it was afternoon. He had to frantically check his phone to make sure of the date; if it was still the same month, even the same week. Tim was gone, but he’d scrawled a note on the motel’s sticky note pad and left it on Jay’s nightstand. “Left to get more cigarettes,” it said. He’d also left a text, which read “I’ll be back in 30 minutes,” with a timestamp from 10 minutes prior. Jay didn’t watch the time for when he came back; by the time Tim had, Jay was buried so far into watching and editing the footage from the last night that he didn’t hear the door open. 

Tim didn’t turn off the lights or open the curtains; he left Jay’s darkness undisturbed. He watched the TV that Jay had left on in the background and kept the volume down so low that the sound couldn’t perforate his ears, hidden beneath his headset. Jay didn’t notice him there until he saw Tim in his peripherals on the way to the bathroom, a sight that sent him nearly flying out of his chair.

And it went on like this for the next couple days; barely any words. Tim disappearing, either in the room’s silence or out the door to smoke. But once Jay had Entry #67.5 uploaded, it became obvious. Tim was only nearly disappearing - or so it seemed to Jay. He became a shadow, a black hole in the room. He was suddenly so aware of every noise he made; when his back was turned he felt the other’s breathing down his neck, and when he glanced over his shoulder his throat would go dry.

Tim went outside every few hours, in a way that felt to Jay like all the hours watching TV in the room were just interim for him. Tim lived in between smoke breaks. When he sat, his fingers would twitch and grip at the hem of his shirt, right above his pocket.

See, it was something strange that had happened, back so many years ago on the Marble Hornets set. It felt like decades - especially with the whole ‘forgetting seven months of his life’ thing, with always losing time - so it had seemed so minuscule that Jay thought it wouldn't matter. It shouldn’t matter. But, apparently, his stupid brain had decided it did.

Because Jay had first developed a huge, fat, idiotic crush on Tim while filming, and now he can’t forget about it. Worries that Tim will somehow, mystically, figure out that - years ago - Jay had feelings for him and forsake him again. Maybe punch him in the face again. Worse yet, maybe leave him, and Jay is so afraid to be alone again.

Jay doesn’t know what it is about him. His heart had started sprinting the minute Tim had knocked on the door where he was staying alone, and it has yet to stop. It's a rabbit that he sends running in his chest; it's always rustling, shivering in his ribcage; it reacts to Tim like he's a fox bearing down on it, and its scared pulse thrums in tune with Jay. Whenever he gets up from his laptop - to stretch, to shower - his eyes land on Tim, usually stretched across his bed, and his throat starts to burn. He holds his breath when walking around him. He doesn’t know what Tim expects or wants from him, and it's terrifying. It seems as if they're both pretending Tim sprinkled broken glass around his bed, and Jay has to walk over it every time he wants to use the bathroom, and Tim says nothing to contradict it. If Jay gets up, he looks over with tilted eyes and pressed lips, ground teeth.

Jay is absolutely certain that his crush is gone - how could he feel anything like that with everything going on? That was as set as stone.

Now in hiding from Alex, they both are always lurking in the room, and Jay is like a loaded spring. He's tried to stay on his computer most of the time, even after he finished the latest entry and had nothing left to do. It feels more polite; Tim never wanted to be in this with him, and Jay doesn’t want to bother him even more than he already has. But then Jay can only think about Alex, if he's on their trail, and that makes him feel nervous too.

It's been four days, and although it hasn’t been that long, Jay is waiting on pins and needles for a response from ToTheArk, or for a new video to appear on the Marble Hornets channel. For distraction, he started going through the footage of the camera he’d set up in their new room, and while it hasn’t been much of anything - both to his relief and chagrin - it's soothing. His mind can only wander so far from it all while watching the tapes, but the effect of watching himself through a screen removes him from it. He is remote. The buzz in his brain has started dying down. The cacophony has quieted. It's a sweet spot that he’s been finding less and less often. Shamefully, it was easiest to find when Jay had been following Tim around; when it felt like he was getting somewhere and wasn’t aware that it was hurting anyone. Ignorant bliss.

“Now, Jay,” Tim’s voice slices through the room, a buzz saw through a rotting tree, breaking glass spilling across bathroom tiles, and it crashes onto Jay. He startles, the sound of his own name that had become a threat, foreign in his ears. The small bubble of quiet he’d collected around him bursts. Jay was already curled up into a ball on his chair, but the words spike his shoulders to his ears.

Tim is standing up, hands on his hips, in front of the cabinet that the TV perched on. All the drawers of the dresser side are open, but empty; he hadn’t packed anything away but had pulled out the contents of his duffle bag and strewn them about, and they were slowly radiating outward. With his foot, he props open the door to the mini fridge that was in the largest cabinet. Jay can see from the desk that it’s bare, too.

“What are we going to do for food?” Tim asks. He swings his head to look at Jay, and his arms cross over his chest. Jay’s mouth falls open, but before any answer can come, Tim kicks the door to the fridge shut. It sends a jolt up Jay’s spine. From across the room, it feels as if they are shoulder to shoulder, and the air has become a little too warm and too musky to breathe.

Jay hadn’t thought it through. When he was motel surfing on his own - before Tim - he’d made a habit of only eating on the road between motels, or whenever he went out to investigate or follow a lead. It minimized how often he had to be out on his own. And when they’d left his last motel, he’d left in such a frenzy that it hadn’t crossed his mind. But he’d had the chance to sit around for a lot longer than he was used to. The few things he’d had in his bag and car - small things from various rest stop or motel vending machines - ran out yesterday afternoon.

After he says nothing, Tim prompts, “When was the last time you ate, Jay?”

There was his name again. “I don’t know,” he replies, slow as glue.

“Yeah, I thought so,” and it’s gruff, a growling voice. He must have been baiting that answer, Jay thinks. He scratches at the back of his neck, looking back to his laptop’s screen as if the work he’d barely been doing excused his habits. “I’ve been getting food when I go out to the store, and I just assumed you were getting something from somewhere too. But then I saw all those wrappers,” he points to the wastebasket, which is on Jay’s half of the room. It’s a quarter full with silvery packages turned inside-out, “and nothing else on your side.”

He walks over to Jay, and it feels like three long steps before he’s on him, hovering over his shoulders. He looks over the screen, quirking a brow before he leans down with an arm on the back of his chair. Jay’s whole back stiffens up. He can smell the smoke that soaks Tim from this close.

“I forget most of the time,” Jay says. It comes out in a sigh as if it might mask the answer.

“You can’t live like that,” Tim says. “Come on, get ready.” He pulls the chair out from the desk, Jay and all, then turns back, and Jay doesn’t know if he’s reeling from the sudden proposition or the movement. And he can’t be sure if he should be impressed Tim was strong enough to move it with his added weight, because he is suddenly aware his weight might not be impressive. Tim plucks his jacket from the edge of his bed, and is putting it on when looks back at Jay, saying, “Well then?”

Jay tries to stand, but his head spins a little on the way up and he has to lean back against the desk. “What?” His legs feel numb, having been crumpled up underneath him for the past few hours.

“We’re going to go eat,” Tim says. His eyes slide away from Jay’s easily, studies the pattern of his duvet like he’s disinterested. He grabs his keys off his nightstand and says, “I’m driving.” Then he starts to walk for the door, but after a moment of hesitation, he grabs a half-empty pack of cigarettes he’d left there too.

“Where?” Tim is now standing by the front door, jiggling the knob in his hand and tapping the toe of his shoes against the frame. Jay wonders if Tim’s plan is to trick him into eating by having them leave in a tornado. He hops towards him, trying to shove his shoes on and catch up at once. It takes effort to step around Tim’s clothes, spread across the floor, and Jay’s lungs burn, and he’s aware he’s making a fool of himself but Tim watches so blankly that it almost makes it worse.

Tim shrugs at Jay’s question. “There’s a Waffle House nearby.” 

“Give me a minute,” Jay says, and when he reaches the door he braces himself against the wall. He’s almost out of breath. Once he gets close, Tim edges away but doesn’t move to leave. He keeps himself just out of arm’s reach. Jay tries not to think about it. But why back away, when he’d leaned over him just a moment ago? And then he asserts to himself, ‘I don’t care.’ “Waffle House? Why is that-”

“Don’t get picky on me when you’ve been eating like shit for the past - however long you’ve been doing this,” Tim says. He leaves before Jay can say anything else - which is for the best, Jay thinks, because it probably would’ve been something stupid. Outside it’s dark, with only enough light from the parking lights to block out the stars, and nothing else. There’s a cool night breeze going, and Jay stops and stretches his arms above his head to try and knock out the crick forming in his back. He feels like he actually has room out here; he feels he needs to stay as small as possible in the room to stay out of Tim’s way.

Tim waits by the car, watching quietly. There’s something about the way he holds himself that gives absolutely nothing away. His face is not empty enough to look friendly, or open, or even neutral. But he doesn’t furrow enough to look angry; doesn’t lower or darken his eyes enough, doesn’t tighten his jaw enough. Jay can’t tell if he’s annoying him yet or not.

“What time is it?” Jay asks.

Tim checks his watch. “Quarter after three.” He opens the door to the car, and Jay makes a point to hurry over and join him. “Yeah, now’s a bad time to go cruising for a gourmet meal,” he says, his voice nearly drowned out by the engine as he starts it up.

“Since when?” Three o’clock means Jay has been at the desk, doing next to nothing, for upwards of eight hours. The crick in his back makes sense now - combined with the tough mattress of his bed. It also explains the soreness in his legs. Tim huffs a little next to him, the corner of his mouth twisting, although not really turning up. Jay takes it as a good sign. At least that’s what he takes away from the warm buzz it leaves in his empty chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got this far, I am both impressed and distressed by your determination. It's no easy task to get through my riff raff of writing that we're going to pretend is a fic.
> 
> I know this chapter is slow but I've already written the next one, I'm just finishing proofing, so hopefully it will be up uncharacteristically soon.


	2. those that tell you what you know already

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Jay's experience, the truth is overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this chapter because I thought giving a week of breathing room would be a good idea, but today is the 10th anniversary of the start of Marble Hornets, and how could I just let that pass by? So Happy 10th Anniversary, I hope I'm not disgracing you too much.

They don’t say much of anything on the drive, so Jay watches the town and the night roll by the window through his camera lens. He doesn’t register that he even brought it along until the low battery light starts flashing. His mouth feels a little dry when he has to put the camera away, but Tim watches him put it down keenly. His face doesn’t change, but he seems more satisfied, somehow. His body relaxes. And Jay has to remind himself not to pay attention to Tim so much. He wipes the sweat of his hands onto his jeans.

And once they sit down, Tim still doesn’t say anything, so Jay follows his lead. There’s a bubble in his chest, a soft gnawing of worry like a rat chewing on his earlobe. He wonders if he’s been an asshole by ignoring Tim for hours at a time, knowing that it wasn’t to do anything productive. He was probably just as bored as Jay was. He burns to ask him something, to say anything, but more loudly his brain says, ‘Don’t make it weird, Jay.’

They’re sitting down across from one another, and Jay turns the menu over and over in his hands, his legs pulled in as close to his seat as he can manage. Tim breaks the silence by setting down his menu on the table, slapping it onto the wood. He seems to be unaware of it, and the way it makes Jay jump just a bit. “I bet you can’t tell me the last time you slept, can you?” he says.

Jay shifts a little in his seat. “I can tell you when I last showered, or brushed my teeth,” he says, almost proud. He can remember doing that sometime in the afternoon.

This time, Tim does smile. It’s a sly flash of teeth, slightly yellowed. Probably from the cigarettes. He doesn’t tend to meet Jay’s eyes, but he does for a moment now before sliding his attention away again. Jay’s chest loosens, just a little. When Tim smiles, he almost looks bored, because it’s small and falls away quickly, and he looks away after like he’s trying to find something else to do. It feels better to get him to smile; at least Tim is enjoying himself now, Jay thinks.

‘I should spend more time with him. Maybe I’ll feel more comfortable then.’

“Yeah well, congrats for you, you can do one thing.” Jay laughs, and fuck if it doesn’t feel great. It’s loud, dry and cracked; it’s ancient, it’s a stale laugh that startles them both. He covers his mouth because it’s three in the morning at a Waffle House and nobody cares to hear it. And Tim is looking at him again, this time behind wide eyes. A raccoon in car lights. A little incredulous. Like he can’t believe Jay just did that. He’s not like a deer in headlights - that’s more like Jay when Tim looks at him. He thinks to apologize to Tim - for scaring him, being obnoxious, having a bad laugh, anything - but a server comes to take their order. When they leave, the moment is gone.

Tim’s fingers twitch towards the corner of the table as if reaching for his cigarettes that he keeps on the nightstand in the motel, the ones he left in the car, and Jay watches him meet empty air. Then he leans back in his chair and drags his hands down his face. Sighing between his fingers, legs stretching out, he brushes against Jay at the ankles. Jay swallows his tongue, chews down the heartbeat that is suddenly in his jaw. “Look, I want to clear the air a bit here. I’ve spent too long in my life not taking care of myself because of this nonsense,” Tim says. “So. We’re not going to do that. Got it?”

Tim is not eloquent. He has careful actions - mostly because when presented the option, he seems to opt to do nothing. But he says things just the way they are in his head. And Jay takes notice because he feels he is the opposite; he is so unaware of himself that he will do things only to regret them later. But when given the option, he opts to say nothing.

It catches Jay off guard. He still feels like he barely knows Tim. He knows a lot about him - considering he did, at least minorly, stalk him and read his medical records - but doesn’t really know him. Hasn’t seen a lot of him outside of running around in the woods. But the confession, this sort of pledge, doesn’t seem like something Tim has ever been prone to. Maybe knowing that Jay knows his dark secrets already made him give up the ghost of keeping any privacy. Which makes Jay feel sick. He wants to get to know Tim in a genuine way; but how could he ever make up for everything he’s wrought onto Tim? How can he forgive himself for jumping every time Tim comes just a little too close when he’s done such terrible things to him?

Jay nods. He can’t think of what else to say. He opts to say nothing.

“So, I’m going to take care of you,” Tim says. “Until I can force you to do it yourself.” He makes it sound simple. The way it makes Jay feel - the way his own body reacts - is anything but. His heartbeat is so erratic that he can feel his own pulse in his throat, can feel it rumbling in his head like a thunderstorm. But it’s cloudless outside.

“Okay,” Jay says. He picks up his water glass, takes a heartless sip. Then he sinks down in his chair, fingers lapsing around the brim. He tries to hide behind it, to be absorbed by it. ‘Who fucking says shit like this?’ he thinks. This Waffle House excursion feels a lot less fun. Jay feels in trouble; like Tim might next start to scold him for the way this conversation - and everyone involving the man - makes him sweat under his own skin. But Tim isn’t going away. Their legs are touching more now, their knees leaning on one another’s, and Jay concentrates hard on not noticing it because it doesn’t matter. “I really do appreciate all the help you’ve given me.”

Tim nods. “Don’t mention it.” When not smoking, his hands are always moving. While talking, he’s gutted both their straw wrappers, twisted and torn his napkin, and feathered away the edges of one sugar packet, until the granules started to spill and he pushed all the carnage into the corner. He starts chewing on his fingernails now, which are also stained yellow. Jay catches himself staring too late. The mantra in his head of ‘I don’t have a crush on him’ is beginning to turn into ‘I can’t have a crush on him.’

“I have one favor to ask in return for helping you,” Tim says around his hands. Jay swallows hard. He promises to himself that he will do whatever it takes to make up everything to Tim. Because he can feel the guilt of everything he’s ever done to him. The moment suddenly feels like such a big deal; the weight of boulders, of a full mountain, suddenly crashes into the diner - into this fucking Waffle House - and onto Jay’s back. “Now that we’re in this together, I’m going to need you to tell me the truth about,” he stops. He gestures to the camera sitting at the table, to the left of Jay’s elbow, which he didn’t realize he’d brought inside despite its dead battery. “-shit that you find, about everything. Okay?”

“Yeah, totally. I will.” The answer comes easy, but the thoughts that follow are hard. Because Jay already feels like he’s a liar. Because Jay is used to playing his cards close to his chest - doing otherwise hasn’t ended well for him - and he doesn’t know how to work as a team. Because that might require telling Tim about how he feels most of the time - which is fucking terrified of every breath he takes - and he doesn’t know how truthful he wants to be about that. About how paranoid he is; about the shapes he sees in shadows. And, most of all, because then he might have to be truthful about his old crush, and Jay hasn’t quite figured that out yet. “Complete honesty.” But he says it anyway, because he knows Tim deserves it, and because he hopes it will make it true.

“Good.” Tim’s voice is steady. It’s almost as if the bags beneath his eyes are lighter. Jay’s rib cage tightens just so, pinches like a corset. The server comes back with their food, and they fall into silence for a couple of minutes. 

The taste of actual food nearly makes Jay cry. It doesn’t matter that it’s three am, that it’s objectively not great, and that the place has got lighting like a horror movie and stains of all horrifying kinds ingrained into the tables. He’d be apt to swallow it whole, if it weren’t for Tim speaking once more, saying something that made his fork pause on the way to his mouth: “That makes me feel better.”

“Really?” Jay says. “You trust me, just like that?”

“I mean, yeah.” Tim pauses while he eats, his shoulders hunched over the table and completely focused on his food. He shrugs. He might’ve stopped there if Jay hadn’t kept staring at him but, after a beat, he leans back and sighs again. He lifts his eyes to Jay’s hands. “I think I know pretty well what you’re going through right now, you know. I’ve been there. I mean, I’m probably still there. And I can tell you that you’ll get to a point where you have to trust everything anyone tells you. Even while disbelieving everything you see and hear. You need it.”

Jay ponders that, speaks next around a mouthful of food, “Believe and disbelieve? How do you even do that?”

“It’s like doublethink,” Tim says. “You ever read 1984? That George Orwell book?” He stabs at the air with his fork, as if he could summon the book onto its teeth, and he drips syrup across the table. Jay shakes his head. “Well it’s just believing two things that contradict each other, or are like opposites. Cause you can’t believe everything - I mean, you know that. You can’t believe what you remember, what you’ve seen, what you think, who you talk to. But you can’t sit on your toes and believe every shadow is out to get you.”

Jay nods. He takes a sip of his water to avoid having to respond. He wonders if he could treat his nerves like that; if he could somehow walk around having to deal with how he feels about Tim. If he could somehow believe he had some sort of expectations to live up to - to make Tim like him, or at least not hate him for everything as much as he probably does - while also believing they didn’t exist. But honestly, he thinks that if he could do that he would have tried a long time ago.

Jay looks back up from his water glass - which he has been staring at for about two minutes, completely still, he realizes belatedly - and sees Tim watching him. When they meet eyes, Tim asks, “You want to get through this Jay?”

There’s his name again. Jay thinks it’s not so bad when Tim says it. “Yeah.”

“Then you just need to have a little faith, even though faith is a stupid word that means nothing.” Tim holds his fork between his fingers and points it at Jay with it like it’s one of his cigarettes. It drips more syrup onto the table.

Jay smiles into his plate. “Okay, Tim.”

“Now eat before you waste away more than you already have.” Tim shoves the bite of soaked waffle into his mouth and nods with a sense of finality. 

Jay hasn’t thought about ‘getting through it’ before. He isn’t sure what ‘it’ is anymore, or what it’s for, or what he wants. He knows it was about Jessica, at one point, and he knows he still wants to find her, but he also knows that it’s not entirely about her anymore. It’s gone past that, and now he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. He only knows what he sees in front of him. That’s all he wants to fix. And he’s just been thinking that he’ll continue to patter around in circles of not knowing until he either stumbles upon her or dies. But Tim gets him thinking that there could be an ‘after this’. He thinks that he still wants Tim to be around ‘after this’.

He’s certain Tim wouldn’t be around ‘after’ if he ever found out about Jay’s old crush. He wasn’t even over his crush, was he? Good God, did he want to be.

“Can’t believe you got me talking about classic literature in a Waffle House at three am.”

No, he supposes he’s probably not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may (or may not, because it's a small deal) have noticed that I belatedly gifted this to @emetophoria (on ao3 and for their art blog on tumblr), one of my best friends that is both the one that has been showing me slenderverse and who put the bug in my ear to write anything for Jam. So if you enjoy this, you can thank them for it's existence. Or look at their slenderverse art (because it's really fucking good art, man).
> 
> But in the truest reality, this fic is also brought to you by orange vanilla coke and cherry "pull'n'peel" twizzlers, because I go to the gas station to down one of each every time I plan to write, because I'm definitely not an adult human that has better things to spend his money on.
> 
> next up: laundry? Riveting stuff.
> 
> (Hey, also, if you're interested, I've made a tumblr for this fic, which I update when I post new chapters. And if you want to chat or have me post about the process, I can do that? So you can find me @itsrabbitual .)


	3. staring into open flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing had changed between them, but they began to speak more, little by little. And that led Jay to strange places. Namely, a laundromat in a town thirty minutes over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 8th, 2013

Jay notices him before he says anything. He’s only been awake for about an hour. It’s when he gets up from his desk to use the bathroom - cracking his back, a yawn stretching his face - that he’s faced with a new barrier in the middle of the room. Tim kneels at the foot of his bed, pawing through a mound of his clothing that’s piled in a nest around him. Jay watches him pull one shirt up to his nose, recoil, and then throw it to his left. Then reach for another.

“Tim?”

He looks up, and the line of his shoulders visibly tense. The shirt drops from his hands. He looks around before answering, and Jay wonders if he wants to escape him, only to find he’s imprisoned himself in his own laundry. When Tim does speak, he doesn’t meet his eyes, gaze falling to Jay’s chin. He tries to give a smile. It’s lopsided, curling up on one side of his face. “Hey, Jay,” he says.

Jay stares. Notably, Tim’s red flannel, which he’s been wearing for most of the days they’ve spent together, is halfway unbuttoned and falls open past the collarbone. Tim seems to notice, and rubs his neck, leaving his arm slung across his chest. It feels like something Jay wasn’t supposed to witness, and with the new - and old - things Jay has been feeling about Tim that week did not aid at all. He tries to focus on Tim’s eyes - which he realizes is natural and easy. “What are you doing?” Jay asks. He unwinds himself and moves to sit back in his chair.

Tim sit back on his ankles and rips his free fingers back through his hair. “I don’t have any clean clothes,” he says.

“Oh.” Jay turns back to his laptop and tries to make it seem calculated; leaning into his palm and tapping a finger against his temple. He pretends it doesn’t cover his cheeks, which he can feel are hot against his hand, nor that it hides Tim from his view again. But he sees him when he blinks. And in the reflection of the sleeping laptop’s screen. “You can borrow something from me.”

Tim shouldn’t look as good as he does in Jay’s sweatshirt. It doesn’t fit him, running too long. It’s baggie in every place that Tim isn’t. He looks soft to the touch. When Tim comes out of the bathroom after changing, Jay wishes he could get closer, but he’s a long way from that. Instead, he presses himself up against the desk, half-standing with one foot still in his chair; his arms pulled in against himself, retreating as far into the walls as possible. Tim has to clear his throat to draw Jay’s attention again. So Jay says the first thing he can think of.

“Tim, do you want to go to a laundromat?”

It’s more of a hassle than Jay could’ve imagined when he said it. The town they had ended up in for the past week is small enough that it doesn’t have one of its own; it’s just a blip along the highway. They have to drive to the next town over, and they have to stop at a convenience store to actually get laundry detergent. Tim pays for it, at his own insistence. To pay back for making Jay come out with him. Jay just tries to stay out of the way. 

Now he sits at a table with their full duffle bags piled on the counter, leans on his palm as he watches Tim across the room, fiddling with the coin machine, and thinks that the next time they need to move, this town would be good to go to. It’s still small enough to be unknown, but large enough that there isn’t only one motel they could be found at.

Tim is still wearing Jay’s sweatshirt. It’s Jay’s favorite, and his mind kind quit rolling over how Tim managed to go for it first. He swirls desperately around of all his options, why this? Because he usually doesn’t go for the heavier kinds of clothes that populate Jay’s wardrobe. He looks out of his element in it; he scratches at his stomach underneath the hem, at his arms and his neck while he tries to scoop quarters into his pockets. Jay’s chest sings with his pounding pulse, his heart drumming against his sternum. 

Their break of dawn trip to Waffle House was three days ago - days according to Jay’s terms, which are days that start after noon and end after five in the morning. He’d thought that after their dinner something would change. He thought that admitting to himself that there was the smallest possibility that he might not be over his infatuation with Tim would bring him some misfortune - more than what already plagued him - or something otherwise monumental, but it didn’t. He thought it would be written all over his face, and that Tim would see it right away. But if Jay had somehow made Tim uncomfortable at dinner, or in the days since, it didn’t show. Which almost has been enough to assuage his anxieties about what he’s feeling; he can feel just enough space to breathe and figure it out.

He isn’t sure that what this crush on Tim is, however. He knows that he worries about the impressions he makes, that Tim make him feel nervous, and a sweaty kind of warm. It doesn’t seem like an obvious crush to him, but then he thinks that he doesn’t know what would be. And what is he supposed to do with it? The uncertainty leaves him more flustered than before, and he wishes that spending more time with Tim could help him sort it out.

Problem is, their routine hasn’t changed much, either. They spend all their time together, and yet none of it together at all; in the same room but not the same space. Jay still spends his days and nights cycling between his bed, the shower, and his laptop, and Tim still disappears at odd times. Their schedules are just off enough that Tim falls asleep before him and is gone before he wakes. He almost thinks Tim is avoiding him. Only now, when he comes back he brings food for the both of them; sandwiches or pizza slices or snack bags from gas stations or the vending machine in the lobby. Or, on the odd times they both happen to be awake, Tim calls his name, and Jay finds him sprawled out across the bed or the chair, and he asks what Jay wants to eat. 

By revolving around Tim, Jay can suddenly keep track of the time. He tells the days to pass between meals and his companion falling asleep. It only makes him more aware of how off his sleep schedule was; how many hours skewed he is of Tim. He’s trying to make it better, to at least have the opportunity to spend time with Tim, but when he lays down in his bed he finds himself even more awake.

Then things like this happen, where he does have time with Tim, and he regrets that he is able to speak at all, because what good does he do with it? 

Tim shuffles back across the laundromat to Jay, and he tries to think of something to say when he gets there. The quarters cackle in his pocket and the heels of his shoes rattle along the chipped tile floors. There are only two people there besides them - a woman waiting alone by a huge washer in the corner, and a clerk sitting behind a desk who doesn’t do a whole lot, and Jay took their bags to a table as far away from both as possible. Tim clears his throat. “Thanks again, Jay. I’m sorry I-”

“How come you don’t know how to do your laundry?” Jay asks. Tim stutters and shuffles his feet. He glances for the door. ‘Big fucking mistake,’ Jay thinks. He should’ve known better. He always fucks up around Tim. “Shit, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s fine.” He waves it off, and Jay takes it more as a ‘just stop talking,’ because he ducks his head and busies himself with loading a washing machine, duffle bag in tow. Guilt slips up through Jay’s chest, slivers across his ribs and makes a move to snatch his rabbit heart. ‘So much for spending time with him.’ And as he watches Tim, it’s then that he realizes he’s got Jay’s bag and Jay’s clothes. When it’s empty, he takes his own bag and starts to throw his own clothes in the same machine.

Tim catches him staring. “What?” 

“What are you doing?” Jay asks. He raises an eyebrow and looks back at the machine behind him.

“Since it’s my fault you had to come out here, I’ll wash them. I figured we can just wash them together.” Tim shrugs, pushing the sleeves of Jay’s hoodie up to his elbows. “I mean, I don’t care if you wear my clothes. Do you?” And then he looks at Jay, and for a moment the hammer of his runaway pulse stops dead in its tracks. His face is wiped of its natural apathy. Instead, his eyes hold a steady interest. Jay wonders if it’s a trick on his mind, a lapse of memory in motion. Tim’s focus on him is something else.

‘What good is this crush?’ Jay wonders. He doesn’t mind the idea of Tim wearing his clothes more often. And he realizes that means he’s getting permission to wear Tim’s. But that thought makes his chest feel tight, and his stomach twists. He chews on his lips, on the inside of his cheeks.

“You okay?” Tim asks. Jay just nods. “Good. Can you hand me the detergent?”

His fingers brush against Jay’s knuckles. It’s all a warm touch; Jay recoils from him as fast as he can without making a scene. Buries his face in his hands, rubs his palms into his eyelids until he sees stars. What is he supposed to get out of these feelings, anyway? Is he supposed to try and date Tim now?

He plays with the strings of his hood to avoid making eye contact when Tim glances at him. The sweatshirt Tim took is his favorite because it keeps him warm, and the jacket he picked instead isn’t warm enough. He worries that he’s transparent. Jay is too clumsy, too irreverent and foolish to try and date anyone. Not to mention it is clear to anyone that Tim doesn’t think of him like that. He’s just lucky he hasn’t scared him off yet.

Tim comes back to sit down across from him, tapping his fingers on the table, which makes Jay jump. He says nothing about it, but Jay’s sure he’s pretending he didn’t notice. “I basically grew up in between hospitals. I’m lucky I know how to do math,” he says. There’s a smile carved into the corner of his mouth, only deep enough to flash a stained canine tooth. He chuckles and leans back in his chair. When he puts his hands behind his head, the sleeves of Jay’s sweatshirt sink further down his arms. “Though I guess I went to get a degree in music, didn’t I?”

Jay can’t stop watching his mouth, wondering if they’re also warm. ‘Is this all feelings are?’ he wonders. Because, to Jay, it feels like swallowing more and more cotton and trying to breathe around it without wheezing. It reminds him of being chased through the woods again, except his shoelaces are tied together and it’s Tim without a mask.

A breath releases from Jay’s chest that he didn’t know he was choking on. “I remember, Alex wanted you to do music for Marble Hornets.” He smiles at the table. He’d only learned that from the tapes Tim gave him, but he does remember seeing Tim play his keyboard a couple of times. That was when his crush was at its strongest - Alex kept snapping at him for zoning out watching Tim fiddle with his new ukulele.

“Well, I pretty much had to sell all the instruments over the years.” Tim plays with a pair of extra quarters on the table, pushing them around. He bites his lip, and only glances at Jay to catch his staring from beneath his hair. “I kept my guitar, though. I could’ve used the money, but I just loved that thing.”

“Where is it now?” Jay asks.

“Just back at my house. I kind of wish I had brought it; it would’ve been something to do.” So he really is that bored. Jay regrets still not having offered to do anything with him until today. He wants to offer to spend more time with him, but chews on his fingernails instead, which are already down past the nail beds. Tim looks up at him with a soft smirk. “I always wanted an electric, but with always losing my job, breaking my leg, I couldn’t afford it. I’ve just held onto that shitty thing instead. It can’t even keep tune for more than fifteen minutes anymore; can you imagine?”

“I’m sorry.” Tim frowns at him and opens his mouth, but Jay speaks over him again. “I was there when Alex broke your leg. It was on the tapes. I don’t know what happened after that.”

He looks away, out through the window, and his fingers dance across the table. “Me neither. I just woke up in my car. I was in the middle of nowhere.” His jaw is tighter. Jay expects him to excuse himself to smoke. But instead, he looks back at Jay, and peers so closely at him that it’s as if Tim can peer inside him. If he could, Jay is sure he’d wonder something that’s always on his mind, ‘How could he have romantic feelings for a man he has continuously does terrible things to?’ 

“Can I ask you something, Jay?”

He swallows a cotton ball rising in his throat, scratching at his neck with the hope of clawing it out. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” Tim spreads his arms out wide, gesturing around the room. There’s enough gusto behind it that the attendant behind the desk gives them a look over the brim of his newspaper. “Why did you ever leave your house? What could you possibly hope to find?”

Jay wishes he didn’t ask that question. It’s one that he constantly wonders himself. “I didn’t have anything left,” he says. “Everyone had disappeared. There would be things that I recorded of myself that I don’t remember happening. And you were - I mean, the masked you was coming after me. And broke into my room at least once.”

“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jay says. “After I left, my apartment burned down. And then I got a package with an address.”

“Wait, your fucking apartment burned down?” Jay sees Tim’s hands are shaking when he grips at the edges of the table.

“Yeah.” Jay forgets how little Tim really knows about his own life, while he’s gotten a shot-for-shot recap of his. But not even he knows everything that’s happened to him since they parted ways on the Marble Hornets set. “I didn’t have anything left to stay for after that.”

Tim gives him a breathless laugh, but he looks away so that Jay can’t tell if he’s actually smiling. He assumes not. “Fuck. Here I thought I had a shitty life.” 

“I mean, you did.” Tim tilts his head, raising one eyebrow high into his hairline. “Wait, I’m sorry, is that-”

“Well of course I did. The hospitalizations, the broken leg, waking up in random places to find out I don’t have a job, the whole nine yards. But you had this quietly shitty life. Which I’d say is worse,” Tim says. Jay looks down at his lap. One of his fingers bleeds from how far he’s chewed the nails down. Then Tim sighs and slumps back in his chair. Their legs brush together again. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jay says. He stretches his legs out too, leaning into Tim’s touch, as much as he’s allowed. He thinks about the promise he made to Tim to be honest, and thinks again about how each time his heart jumps around Tim, it’s a sort of lie. A lie by omission; he’s done a lot of those. And then he starts speaking, without thinking, “I don’t even know why I’m still doing this. It used to be about Jessica, but now? I don’t know what I’m doing, Tim.” 

His camera has been waiting, blinking it’s light from the corner of the table, until now when Jay picks it up and turns it around in his hands. He looks at Tim through the lens. Whenever he touches it, Tim looks at it as an enemy, but it’s just an extension of Jay. He can feel it under his skin. That glare Tim gives it touches him too. “This is all I know how to do,” he says. So he shuts it off. Then he sinks down in his chair, letting the camera fall onto his chest and turning his eyes to stare at the ceiling. He hates himself for the clouds, the storm that starts to rise inside him knowing the camera is off. He wonders if he’s supposed to cry, or something, but he just wants to fall asleep. He’s too cold, too tired.

“Hey,” Tim says. When Jay doesn’t look, he clears his throat, which makes him feel too guilty to ignore him. His eyes are waiting for him when he looks back. “We’ll find Jessica, and then the three of us can go have our lives together. Some place far away from this shithole. Okay?”

Jay doesn’t know why Tim is trying to comfort him, considering all the things he’s done. The worst, he thinks, are ones that Tim doesn’t even know about: how much warmer he feels when Tim smiles at him like that. Jay thought Tim didn’t like to smile, or that he tried not to, but whenever he’s around Tim smiles at him a lot, both genuine and not. “Sure thing, Tim.” He pushes the camera across the table, as some sort of peace offering that Tim doesn’t know he’s receiving. He also hopes that maybe if Tim has it, he won’t feel like it’s staring at him. “I don’t even know what I’d do with it.” And if he’s honest, he really doesn’t think he’s gonna get it.

Tim doesn’t say anything. He gingerly takes the camera off the table, watching Jay carefully as he does. It’s only with the camera out that Tim looks at Jay like he could actually do anything to him. Otherwise, it’s always the other way around. He puts it into his duffle bag, which is still on the counter, and Jay tries to pretend he’s not watching as he zips it away. 

For a while - Jay doesn’t know how long; it’s probably minutes, but it feels like ages - they sit in silence. They listen to the rumble of the machines around them. It sounds like far off thunder. Jay watches the attendant flip through his newspaper, watches the woman across the room load her clothes into white trash bags to take home. 

“I don’t want to sit here anymore,” Tim says. “How much longer is it?”

Jay shifts, glancing over his shoulder. “We’ve got like a half hour. But we can’t just leave it.”

“Sure we can. No one will steal that. It smells too bad.” He stands, and when Jay stays put he offers him a hand. He wishes it wasn’t, but it’s an offer that he can’t resist too long. Tim’s hands are rough to the touch, having worked himself to the bone for so long, but they’re soft to hold, and then he wishes he didn’t have to let go after Tim pulls him up. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Jay says.

“Well, what do you like to do?” Jay just shrugs. Tim gives him a smile that he can tell he doesn’t really mean. Tim takes the bag with Jay’s camera with him before walking ahead of him for the door. He leaves the rest of their things sitting on the table. Jay doesn’t dispute. He has nothing else he can really lose. “I’d suggest we go for a walk in the park, but considering everything, I won’t.” He holds the door open for Jay, and outside it feels so much warmer. It’s not often that he gets out in the sun.

“We could drive around for a while,” Jay says.

“Jesus Christ, we haven’t driven enough yet?” Tim says, and he laughs. Jay likes Tim’s laugh; it’s deep and musical, loud and sharp. It’s not as dry and old as Jay’s sounds. It doesn’t sound dead, yet. Jay wonders what his singing would sound like. Tim shakes his head, shaking out his hair, but in spite of himself, he heads for his car and pulls out the keys. “Seriously though, you like car rides?” He opens the driver’s side door but stops before getting in. It’s not sarcastic at all, which Tim often is. His eyes are alight, holding the same look that he had when he mixed their clothes together. 

Jay nods, frozen in his spot on the sidewalk, the camera shaking in his hands. He’s already turned it back on. 

“That’s nice, actually,” Tim says, and it’s warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rabbitual returning to bring your domestic fluff in the least satisfying way possible. 
> 
> A couple updates/infomatives: 
> 
> I've been very focused on keeping a timeline for this fic and have been keeping track of approximate dates (with a handy chronology sheet of all the events in time), so I decided to actually go in and add dates to the beginning notes of each chapter. This is just in case you are interested in the actual time span of this fic, but it's easy to ignore in case you don't! I don't intend to explore or repeat much of the things that are shown in MH, but since this fic is going to be taking place around the blank spaces between canon events, I figured it might be helpful to start marking that off now. I just like to be organized.
> 
> Secondly, I want to say that I do want to try to be reliable for posting these chapters, so I am going to make an attempt to update every Friday/Saturday. However, I'd also like to say that it might not remain extremely reliable, because I don't know what it's going to look like for me when the fall semester starts up for me and I have to work around work AND classes. In addition to that, it's possible that I might post shorter, more drabble-orientated chapters/scenes. I don't want these to ever take the place of a full chapter, since it's not likely anything will happen/move forward in those, but if times are tough I may use them to give myself a kind of extension without leaving a gap. And while I'm laying this out for you, I don't mean to give an illusion of me having my shit together, but I do want to give myself some expectations to live up to. We'll find out if that backfires. 
> 
> You can get updates to the progress of chapters, new updates, and get in touch with me on my tumblr, @itsrabbitual, if that floats your boat.
> 
> Anyway, back to the content. Next up: a late night drive.


	4. who can only find his way by moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can a heartbeat warm the cool night air?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 11th, 2013

In truth, Jay likes driving because it’s the only place he truly feels safe. He’s aware that it’s foolish - he’s found himself in cars without memory more times than he can count, and there’s nothing to say that he couldn’t be attacked in his car. It’s the easiest place for him to be killed if something’s effect were to take hold of him, and it’s easier for Alex to track. But he guesses it’s doublethink, like Tim said. 

But tonight, nothing can comfort Jay. Alex has gotten in his head, under his skin. They had been too close for too long. Every few minutes, the headlights reflecting in his mirror startle him, only for him to remember it’s just Tim’s car. Then he checks again, to make sure Tim looks fine, for as good as he can tell. And he tries not to look too long. It’s a constant swirl in his head of reminding himself that Alex doesn’t know where they are - he proved as much by what he said in ‘68.’ He assumes it’s a warning. For what purpose and of what, he’s not really sure. He’s driving at almost ninety, but there’s no one else on the highway so late, and Tim’s keeping up, so he keeps going. Just to get away. That’s all that matters.

When his phone rings, it’s so loud that Jay can feel it shudder through his bones, and his hands jerk the wheel. He’s kept the radio and the AC off, listening intently to the road roaring beneath the tires. His eyes wander back to his mirror as he answers, hoping Tim didn’t notice him swerve. 

Of course, it’s him on the phone. So he hopes he doesn’t mention it. “Yeah?”

“Jay, there’s a rest area in three miles. Can we pull over?”

He glances at the clock on his dashboard, and it’s already three am, and they’ve been driving in random directions, at nothing but Jay’s whim and way, for hours. It’s seemed like he could feel every second pass by like pulling needles, and yet he didn’t notice the hours go by. He has no idea where they are. ‘Why did Tim let me go this long?’ he wonders, but then, ‘We’re not far away enough yet.’

His silence is a giveaway to his reluctance. “I’m about to pass out,” Tim says. “And it looks like it’s gonna rain.” He’s right; there are no stars, and the moon disappeared at least twenty minutes ago. The clouds feel close to the ground, bearing down on them, and it makes Jay itch. The air in his car is too hot, and sticks in his throat.

Jay sighs, about as loud as he can manage, to express his discomfort to Tim in words that he hasn’t been able to manage yet. And just to hear more noise in his ears. He hopes he gets the message. “Yeah.” Thunder rumbles, and moments later, the road is illuminated by lightning streaks overhead. “Yeah, I’ll pull off.”

“Thank you,” he says, and there’s turbulence in his voice. Was he holding his breath? He sounds so relieved that Jay feels his throat twist, and his heart trades places with his liver.

The rest area has a single row of parking spots in front of a small hut of a building, a single street light illuminating the sidewalk. Beyond the lot, there are woods, and Jay can just see the roots of the trees disappearing in the dark. He prays that he can’t see eyeshine. He pulls his car into a spot on the end, and Tim pulls in right next to him. He can’t tell if it’s comforting to be boxed in, or nerve-wracking to have obstructed view. But what have his eyes ever been good for?

Tim gets out and walks around the driver’s side of Jay’s car. Then he bends down, hands on his knees, so Jay rolls down his window. It’s like getting pulled over by a cop, and Jay feels every bit as much like he’s about to get chewed out. Their faces are closer than he expected them to be. When Tim talks, his breath touches Jay’s cheeks, and he can smell the mixed flavors of cigarettes and cinnamon gum. “Do you want me to sleep in here with you?” he asks.

Jay’s mouth is drier than before, tacky behind his teeth. He keeps his hands tight on the steering wheel. His fingertips turn red, and his knuckles white, and looks back into the woods. “Yes.”

Tim doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright, I’m gonna get my bag. You can take the back seat.”

Jay wriggles out of the driver’s seat without leaving the car. The thunder is getting louder, and rain starts streaking down the rear window. When Tim comes back, following several long minutes where Jay began to curl into himself, he ducks into the passenger side seat, his duffle bag is shoved halfway under his shirt, and water drips from his hair onto his nose and cheeks. He looks at Jay with a defeated smirk, one full of show and no substance. One that doesn’t stretch his face the right way. “Sorry, I went to the vending machine over there,” he says, and to show the rewards of his struggle, offers him a water bottle. Jay takes it, but doesn’t open it, and watches as Tim produces his pill bottle from his jeans and swallows them down with a swig from his own.

The silence that swirls with the rattling of Tim’s pills is all-encompassing. Jay can feel Tim’s curiosity pressing against him like a wall, can taste it burning in the back of his throat. Tim hadn’t said much of anything since Jay woke him up in his rush to leave the motel. He’s stifled in his sweatshirt, his nerves pressing too close to his skin so he weedles it off and tosses it at his feet, then grips at his elbows, chilled in the night air. He feels as if he’s wavering perfectly on an imaginary fence, with Tim grabbing for him on one side and his own fears, in the shape of Alex, waiting patiently on the other. It feels like a fever, and he’s restless and tired.

He looks up and catches Tim watching him with narrowed eyes. “Do you wanna trade?” he offers, already pulling off his red flannel. Beneath is one of Jay’s white T-shirts. He hands it back to Jay without any more confirmation, and so he hands up his sweatshirt without giving any. Jay buttons it to his throat, his fingers fumbling in time with Tim pulling the sweatshirt over his head in the corner of his eye. He tries not to stare.

“So,” Tim says. “What’s up?”

Tim hadn’t been awake when Jay got out of the shower that night, nor for when he then discovered that ‘68’ had been uploaded to his channel. He’s very grateful for that now, as it meant he had not bared witness to the immediate aftermath. Jay had gone outside the room when his breathing and pacing had become too violent, but after crumpling to the pavement he’d realized that he could be easily ambushed there, thus he’d swallowed it all and gone back inside to pack.

No, Tim didn’t wake up until Jay decided. Jay shook him awake, grabbing at his arms and leaving red marks where his fingers had dug too tight. Tim woke slowly, groaning and pushing himself up on his elbows. Now, Jay realizes that Tim could’ve freaked out, but he hadn’t, and that thought leaves a gentle buzz in the back of his head. He, rather, had just squinted into the shine of the ceiling light, and then looked at Jay. “What’s the matter?” was the first and last question he had asked, mumbling it into his hand while rubbing at the stubble on his cheeks. Jay’s hands still clung to his shoulder, his fingers dug into his back. 

He said nothing else when Jay simply said, “We need to leave, now.” He didn’t say anything about how Jay had already packed both of their bags and only handed him a camera, nor did he protest when Jay insisted he check them out while Jay waited next to the door. And when Jay refused his suggestion of revisiting the town where they did their laundry, he let the subject drop and patiently followed Jay for hours. Objectionless.

“Just, saw a video of Alex interrogating the guy in the hood, looking for us. I figured it was a good of a sign as any time to move on.” Jay speaks without looking up, picking at the skin on his knuckles until they begin to bleed. It was frustrating because the last two days had been good. He’d felt fine. He and Tim had been talking. They’d watched a couple of movies that were running on the TV, and had listened to Tim talk through half of them. He’d had told him about his favorite music, and he’d even convinced Jay to come with him to the gas station for lunch. His sleep schedule was getting on track to match Tim’s. He’d felt great. “We’d been there too long, anyway. They could’ve found us.” But that was gone now.

Jay thinks, again, of the point of having a crush when they’re running for their lives.

“Well, it was probably a good idea, then,” Tim says.

“He doesn’t know where we are though,” Jay says. Is he arguing against his own point? It doesn’t seem to matter. He knows tonight he has asked much more of Tim than he should have. “He’s still looking.”

“It’s always better safe than sorry.” Tim reaches behind him to put his hand on Jay’s shoulder. It is an awkward move, and he has to bend his elbow back to reach him in the backseat, but it’s comfortable. His touch feels secure, although light. His hand hovers more than rests. When did Jay last have a hand on him that didn’t intend to bring him death? It’s probably been years, he thinks, but he also knows he wouldn’t be able to remember. He looks back to Tim, whose eyes are too steady on him for his own good. “Stop worrying, Jay. It was a good idea.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t look away, and neither does Jay. Quietly he thinks, ‘Maybe this is what it’s crush is good for’. Tim is pretty good at making Jay’s heart stop, and it’s becoming a better and better feeling each time he does it. Its leaps are not so sickening anymore; it feels like a good exercise for it. The fluttering in his stomach feels warmer. Proves there’s something left in him that feels things other than fear. He wishes it was on purpose, for either party.

Tim’s hand drops from his arm, his eyes following suit, and Jay mourns the connection. “You probably want to go back, right? If you want to find Jessica. We’re pretty far off now.”

Jay sighs through his nose. “Yeah. We can find a motel on the way back tomorrow.”

“Sure. And you can get some sleep now, right?” Tim glances back one more time, and this time Jay can see the shadows nesting under his eyes. Jay glances past him, out into the forest, and feels it staring back at him. There’s a flicker in his memory of a promise for honesty. But he’s never lived up to that, has he? He nods without looking back. “Good,” Tim says, following it shortly with a yawn. 

They both settle into their seats, Tim pushing his back so that he’s nearly level with Jay, who curls up so that he’s just a ball beside him. Tim gives Jay his bag to use as a pillow, and Jay’s bag rests under Tim’s seat, his laptop and camera tucked safely inside. Tim sets up his camera on the dashboard so that it points at them both. Jay, alone, keeps watch outside the car, as Tim shuts his eyes and slips into sleep without trouble, and then Jay watches him. 

The rain is petering out, leaving behind only the sounds of distant thunder and wind slipping through the cracked driver’s side window. The street light flickers, illuminating Tim’s form, his face turned towards Jay to hide from the shine. His breathing is quiet, and Jay watches the rise and fall of his chest to assure himself it’s still there.

A thought buzzes in the back of his brain as he looks on. It overtakes him slowly. How the fuck has managed to feel this while on the run for his life? He didn’t think he was sane enough. He didn’t think there was enough pieces of his mind left, enough soul left alive to feel anything, save for fear. He’d felt fear only for so long; he’d been a lost cave, his own worst dreams bouncing inside a cavern within him only to echo back. What reason did he have to think soft thoughts of Tim, or anyone? Not to mention, the fact that it was still Tim, that he’d carried this with him all these years meant that part of him never died at all. Something was still left.

It gave him an idea that maybe there was something to an ‘after’ after all.

It still doesn’t feel like a smart idea, of course. He doesn’t think it’s really worth anything; Tim is looking out for him, but only in the same way Jay does in that they’re all they each have left. The fact that Jay feels more doesn’t mean anything, no matter how much the fluttering in his chest wants it to. He doesn’t know what more he even wants. These flutters and a perceived sparkle to Tim’s eyes are all he has experience with. But it doesn’t feel so much like a criminal idea. Maybe it’s not so bad to give in if he were to keep it to himself.

Maybe it’s doublethink, again. Tim said it was a good way to think.

He has to admit, he truly does enjoy seeing Tim nestled in his sweatshirt. Now that they share clothes, Tim still tends to go for his own, and he wears them for several days at a time, but he’s taken to wearing one thing of Jay’s, like the T-shirt under his flannel. And he loves to wear Tim’s clothes, and wears them at more opportunity than he likes to acknowledge; they’re warm and soft and smell like him. Tim seems to be self-conscious about his smell, as he often apologizes for it when Jay wears something of his clothes, but he likes it. He’s started chewing gum when he finishes a cigarette, a habit that only seems to have started recently, and he tiptoes to the bathroom whenever he notices Jay brushing his teeth, something he never seems to do on his own. Jay doesn’t know how to tell him he doesn’t mind it.

And what does Tim smell like? It’s particularly hard for Jay to pin down. He smells thickly of what he would first imagine - cigarette smoke, sweat, coffee grounds, and musk, then followed by a futile veil of hotel bar soap and cinnamon gum. But there’s something further beyond that Jay can’t completely grasp, but that he very firmly believes is Tim’s own smell, and not the smell of his life, which is a mixed smell of something like cedar, ginger, and the air after a heavy summer rain. It reminds Jay of moss, black tea, and the deep forest, the last being more fitting than he wishes, so he tries to think of campfires. It reminds him of how warm Tim makes him, anyway.

Despite his best attempts, Jay does fall asleep eventually. He drifts off with his nose tucked into the collar of Tim’s flannel, his sleeves covering his eyes, with the sound of birds in his ears and the sunlight peeking through the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I really played myself by falling off my schedule as soon as I set it. I had some troubles as I am in a different state for an internship, and was at first without WiFI and have been facing wild anxiety-induced insomnia combined with a 180 sleep schedule swap, to the point where I'm just barely not getting migraines between 4 pm and 9 pm. This chapter has literally been sitting on my computer since last Wednesday, or so, and I just haven't gotten around to editing it. And as I'm in the middle of this internship right now, I can make no promises for Chapter 5, but I do want to try and get back on schedule. Before we get to the real Chapter 5, though, I want to post a little in-between drabble, which I'm going to just try and get up as soon as possible.
> 
> In other news, however, @emetophoria has helped me give me more solid next steps, and I'm getting a feel for our direction, so at least now I know where I want to head next. That certainly gives me hope.
> 
> Find me on @itsrabbitual on tumblr if you wanna hang out, chat, get fic updates, or see my strange amalgamation of slenderverse memes and aesthetics.


End file.
